The two returned to the inn, both a little downcast.
"Where's your bamboo hat?"
They sat down, asking the question almost in unison.
"..."
Itachi reached for the teapot, instinctively wanting to pour himself a cup of water. But after a brief pause, he put it back down.
"Forget it. Let's go."
He'd already noticed several suspicious figures lurking near the inn, their movements too deliberate to be casual.
"Alright," Jūzō replied calmly.
Their coordination was seamless—no questions asked, no need for explanation.
They quietly left the inn and slipped out of the small town.
Neither of them dwelled too much on the mission's failure. In fact, they had already thought of dozens of justifications for it.
It didn't matter much in the end.
What truly mattered… was that the fight had been exhilarating.
"You heard anything about what Orochimaru's been up to lately?"
While back at the inn, under the glow of the town's lights, Itachi hadn't been too bothered by the deterioration of his eyesight.
But now, traveling through the pitch-black night, his poor vision was impossible to ignore. It reminded him of Orochimaru.
If fate didn't hand him the opportunity to meet Orochimaru, he would create one himself.
Besides, after hearing what Kakashi had said, a sense of unease had begun to stir in him. He was already making plans to sneak into Konoha for a closer look—though it threw off his original timeline and forced him to pick up the pace.
"Why are you asking about him? Don't tell me you're thinking of teaming up with that snake…" Jūzō's voice was uneasy, almost defensive. "Let me tell you now—Orochimaru is no good. You're from Konoha, so you must've heard the rumors. He used to experiment on kids—most of them barely twelve."
Itachi's sudden mention of Orochimaru made Jūzō nervous.
Was I not strong enough? Did I disappoint him? Is he thinking of replacing me?
Jūzō had already spun an entire tragic drama in his head, complete with betrayal and abandonment. So without hesitation, he began badmouthing Orochimaru, hoping to dissuade Itachi.
After all, both Itachi and Orochimaru came from the same village—it wasn't impossible for them to reconnect.
"I just want to meet him," Itachi replied, giving Jūzō a strange look. "There are things I want to ask. That's all."
Jūzō's rambling made him feel oddly sentimental.
This damned charisma of mine...
"Oh, that's fine, then. I'll ask around for you once we get back."
Jūzō gave him a sincere nod. It didn't seem like Itachi was hiding anything, so he relaxed a little.
He didn't want to lose his partner. And truth be told, finding a compatible teammate again would be a hassle. They'd only just begun developing a good rhythm. Starting over would be a headache.
Besides, Itachi's strength and personality were everything Jūzō could ask for in a comrade.
And honestly, those moments when Itachi got drunk and let loose? They added a touch of life to Jūzō's otherwise grim existence.
"Thanks. I appreciate it."
Itachi gave a nod of acknowledgment.
"You take a break here. That little rat tailing us is getting annoying—I'll handle it."
At Itachi's words, Jūzō sighed in mild irritation. "Yeah, that one's been biting at our heels for a while now."
Since Jūzō volunteered, Itachi didn't object. He was annoyed too, and if Jūzō hadn't spoken up, Itachi would've dealt with it himself once his strength was fully restored.
As for whether Jūzō could win or not… Itachi wasn't too worried.
If things went south, Jūzō could always just hand over his beheading sword to someone else and retire to a peaceful farming life.
Time flew, and in the blink of an eye, half a year had passed.
At long last, Itachi got his wish—he met with Orochimaru.
Given the Akatsuki's wide influence and the size of the organization, it was common for its members to be scattered. Sometimes, months would pass before paths crossed again. So tracking down Orochimaru had been no easy task.
They sat opposite each other in a quiet tavern.
Orochimaru sipped his sake slowly, then spoke directly.
"Itachi-kun, you wanted to speak with me?"
His golden, snake-like eyes fixed on Itachi, watching him the way a predator observes a particularly interesting specimen.
The gaze irritated Itachi more than he let on.
He took a sip of his own drink, trying to keep his irritation in check. After a brief moment of silence, he considered how to approach the conversation.
Should I ease into it? Or go straight for the kill…
Eventually, he raised his eyes and spoke softly—but dropped a bombshell all the same:
"Are you… interested in my eyes?"
Itachi's words wiped the smug smile off Orochimaru's face. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly—he was stunned.
He couldn't quite make sense of the fourteen-year-old boy standing before him.
He had gathered ample intelligence on Itachi, convinced he had the boy figured out. But now, those calm, direct words had left him speechless.
For a brief moment, Orochimaru's mind stalled. He had no immediate reply.
A heavy silence settled over them.
"Who wouldn't be curious about the secrets of the Sharingan…" Orochimaru murmured, finally lifting a cup of sake to his lips in an attempt to collect himself. His tone was casual, almost friendly—like a seasoned mentor addressing a gifted student.
Gone was the earlier air of playful menace. Outwardly calm, he inwardly scoffed.
He prided himself on his keen insight into others, believing he could see through anyone with ease. Most people, to him, were transparent—predictable. Weak.
But this boy… he was different. Intriguing.
For the first time, Orochimaru felt compelled to treat Itachi as an equal, not as a child or a potential experiment, but as someone worthy of genuine attention.
"It seems your knowledge is insufficient to answer my questions," Itachi said coolly, a note of disappointment in his voice. He sipped from his glass again, not bothering to set it down.
The conversation, it seemed, was drawing to a close.
"???"
Orochimaru's mind reeled. What was this sudden turn?
Was the boy questioning his understanding of the Sharingan?
His usually sharp, slitted pupils now flickered with uncertainty—and Itachi noticed.
A trace of satisfaction curled at the corner of his lips. The conversation was working.
He said nothing further, calmly sipping his drink, waiting.
Just as Itachi was about to finish his sake, Orochimaru found his composure again.
"Itachi-kun, you seem... conflicted," he said, his voice laced with hidden meaning.
"Tell me," Itachi said softly, his tone suddenly more contemplative, "can you make two unrelated people become brothers?"
Orochimaru blinked, caught off guard once more.
Moments ago, they had been discussing eyes—and now, Itachi had veered into something else entirely.
"My eyes have evolved beyond the Sharingan into the Mangekyō," Itachi continued. "Their value—what they represent—goes far deeper than you realize. If you can't answer that question… if you can't understand the bond that transcends blood… then we have nothing more to discuss."
He placed his glass down, his gaze unwavering, piercing.
Orochimaru sat in stunned silence, his thoughts a blur as he stared into Itachi's eyes—depthless, unreadable.
For a moment, it felt as though the roles had reversed.
He wasn't the one probing.
He was being questioned.
And Itachi, a fourteen-year-old boy… was the one doing it.
"To make those unrelated by blood become brothers…"
Orochimaru murmured thoughtfully, pushing aside the strange feeling the idea evoked.
Itachi regarded him with his usual detached expression, but beneath that calm facade, his thoughts were heavy.
In truth, he knew—if Orochimaru couldn't solve this problem, no one in the world could.
And if that was the case, then the plan he harbored in his heart would have to be abandoned.
"Tell me the situation," Orochimaru said, leaning in with interest.
The topic of bloodlines and genetics was his domain. After all, there was no one more well-versed in the human body, cellular structure, and genetic manipulation than him.
"I have a friend…" Itachi began. "One of his friends died. He's devastated… So he wants to continue his friend's bloodline through other means."
It was a classic deflection. The story was clearly fabricated.
"…Dead?" Orochimaru echoed, eyes narrowing.
"You're talking about Shisui," he stated flatly, cutting through the pretense with surgical precision.
Itachi was taken aback. He hadn't expected Orochimaru to pierce the ruse so effortlessly.
His intelligence… was unnerving.
A flicker of fear rose in Itachi's heart. Unwillingly, his killing intent began to surface, simmering beneath the surface.
He hated this feeling—this loss of control.
But Orochimaru only smiled at the sudden edge in Itachi's gaze, completely unfazed.
To him, this weak display of hostility was almost comical. The number of lives he'd taken… the corpses left in his wake… Itachi's murderous aura barely registered.
"You and Shisui? Everyone already knows about that," he said with a soft chuckle, his eyes glinting with intrigue.
He was clearly trying to ease the tension—and perhaps, cool the heat rising in his own heart as he thought about the Mangekyō Sharingan Itachi had mentioned.
In truth, he was tempted. Deeply.
He could act now—attack and rip those eyes from Itachi himself. But the fact that Itachi had come to him willingly meant he didn't need to be hasty. A direct confrontation might not end in his favor.
Orochimaru understood the terrifying potential of the Mangekyō. Though rarely documented, every account hinted at something apocalyptic.
And in Orochimaru's experience, the less written about in the history books, the more dangerous it truly was. The more detailed the stories, the more likely the subject was trivial.
After hearing Orochimaru's words, Itachi's expression cooled again.
"Can you do it?" he asked quietly.
He already suspected it was possible. In this world, death wasn't as final as it once seemed. If resurrection was within reach, then rewriting blood and genes should be feasible too.
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